


Of Gym Shorts, Baby Blues and School Wide Betting Pools

by starspangledpunk (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is the Hottest Gym Teacher on the Planet, Dum Dum and the Boys ie Matchmakers Extraordinaire, Fluff, M/M, Pining Perfected to an Art Form, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers has it bad, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starspangledpunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not Sargent anymore, Dum Dum, you know that.” Bucky said into the mobile cradled between his shoulder and his ear, his hands busied with preparing breakfast (efficient, steady, calloused; a soldier’s hands).</p><p>“Ah, yeah, guess s’not; still, s’gonna take a while to break outta the habit, y’know? Anyway, the boys and I just wanted to check up on ya. What college did you say you were teachin’ at?”</p><p>“It’s a highschool, not a college, Dum Dum. You know Brooklyn Prep School, down by that big sports centre? Yeah, the one with the pool and the gym. That’s where I’m working.”</p><p>Or, how Steve Rogers lost his heart to too-small gym shorts and a prosthetic arm and James Buchanan Barnes began to question his morality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haljordont](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haljordont/gifts).



> Warning: tooth-rotting fluff and pining in the foreseeable future
> 
> This is my first fic in literal years, so apologies for terrible characterisation and poor writing ^^''
> 
> Thanks to thewinterpunk for plotting this with me at 3 am whilst I was relying on mugs of tea and leftover chocolates from Christmas to keep from dozing off. We also plotted their fic, which you can read here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3106379
> 
> Please take note of the somewhat graphic descriptions of violence and PTSD in this Prologue- other chapters will be more light-hearted, but there is some amount of detail in the first part of this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy! All feedback is welcomed c:

_A single shot._

_The sound of a single shot was all it had taken to lift the lid from Hell and release its demons to wreak havoc in this base._

_Around him, the sounds of battle dimmed- the wheezing gasps of dying men were muted, the colours of explosions caused by hand grenades lacked their vividness and a sharp, harrowing ringing in his ears drowned out the shouts of comrades and foes alike._

_He was the first to find them._

_The ground was so saturated with their blood that his boots sank into it where cobblestones fazed into scuffled dirt._

_The man in front of him was almost certainly dying, and he knew that there was little to be done to salvage what few tendrils of life still clung to his soul. Blood was still welling from deep wounds in his shoulder and across his chest- but weakly, fitfully, like the last drops coaxed from an almost empty barrel._

_The man to his left was dead. A dozen bullet wounds, each a black disk ringed with red-brown crust, stood out on the starched planes of his white shirt like withered flowers placed atop the long deceased._

_There was another man, also dead, with no discernible wounds aside from a broken wrist. It would later transpire, in autopsy reports, that he had been one of the few left living when the raid began that had been dispensed off quickly with mustard gas._

_Another woman lay beside him, her fingers still grasping weakly at the rigid digits of his hand. Vomit drenched the front of her shirt and blood seeped, congealing, from the corners of her eyes and lips._

_Mustard gas, again._

_And there were others- oh, there were others. Tens upon tens of them, piled up in this cell like sacrifices to some God of war, their blood staining his shoes, making the cobblestones run red and the overturned ground around the flagstones almost black with it, but the one that his eyes zeroed in on was a girl._

_A girl- and truly, she was a girl, for she appeared barely 13 years of age. She was slumped against one of the compact mud walls near the entrance to this room, red blooming from the single shot at the back of her head. She had been spared the mustard gas, at least._

_A single shot, through the frontal lobe and straight out the optical, the bullet embedded in the wall that had been painted red with her blood._

_His knees hit the ground._

_There was shouting, yelling, voices coming nearer and the familiar click and clatter of something that he should have recognised, but he stayed still. Trembling hands reached for the girl before him as he curled closer, tried to drown out the space between them, tried to_ protect _her like he should have in the first place, but there were hands at his shoulders and hands at his waist, pulling him up and shoving him towards the door, and it was only then that the click and clatter registered in his mind._

_He moved blindly, instinctively, shoved the men coaxing him out of the room into the corridor. Their voices briefly infiltrated the haze that surrounded his mind; Tyler and Joey, that’s who they were. Good- good, he’d gotten them out of harm’s way, they were safe, he’d kept them safe-_

_There was a deafening blast, like the clap of thunder had he been amid the clouds that brewed the storm themselves, and a blinding flash of light. Heat singed his skin and rolled over him in waves, constantly assaulting his senses. Something sharp and hot embedded itself in his shoulder as agony splintered up his arm like lightening and the ringing in his ears grew ear-splitting- and still, still it grew louder, and louder still, louder and louder until-_

Bucky started awake, bolt upright in his bed as panic gripped at his heart and tightened his chest, the stench of corpses burning in pillars of orange flame still turning his stomach. A sheen of sweat caught the weak light that filtered through closed curtains, gently illuminating his form. The sheets were twisted around him, his duvet an unceremonious pile on the floor as shallow, ragged pants fell from his lips. Fear consumed every synapse in his brain, made them fire randomly as adrenaline pumped through his system. Slowly, ever so slowly, Bucky familiarised himself with his surroundings.

A bed. A flat. _His_ flat.

This- this was not the battlefield. This was home. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

 

~0~

 

 

"…Betcha never thought you’d be following in the old man’s footsteps, hey, Sarge?”

“It’s not Sargent anymore, Dum Dum, you know that.” Bucky said into the mobile cradled between his shoulder and his ear, his hands busied with preparing breakfast (efficient, steady, calloused; a soldier’s hands).

“Ah, yeah, guess s’not; still, s’gonna take a while to break outta the habit, y’know? Anyway, the boys and I just wanted to check up on ya. What college did you say you were teachin’ at?”

“It’s a highschool, not a college, Dum Dum. You know Brooklyn Prep School, down by that big sports centre? Yeah, the one with the pool and the gym. That’s where I’m working.”

“I still can’t get over your gym uniform, you nutter. Your shorts are at least 2 sizes too small.”

“What can I say; the army’s bulked me out, and I forgot to buy a new pair. They’re not that bad, Dum Dum. I’ve gotta go, in any case; don’t wanna be late on my first day.”

“You’re never late, Barnes. But sure; have fun. Don’t let the kids drive you _too_ crazy, as funny as that would be.”

“We’ve got Monty for that.”

“Ha! S’true- catch up with ya later, Buck.”

“Yeah, see you, Dum Dum.”

Bucky allowed his lips to curl into a small smile as he pushed his phone into his pocket with warm fingers, ignoring the clink of metal on ceramic when he picked up his plate with cold, harsh digits.

Yes, he decided as he sat at an empty table in an empty apartment. Yes; he was tired.

Tired of the looks and whispers that followed him wherever he went, picking at his back, at the scarred skin where shoulder met prosthetic. Tired of having to claw tooth and nail for his sanity in the early hours of the morning, when all he saw when he closed his eyes was blood and fire and scarred flesh. Tired of looking in the mirror and seeing himself as the man who’d let good men and women meet their death because he’d taken too long finding them. Tired of an arm that creaked like an abandoned house in strong wind (it was his fault, he knew it was his fault, for not taking care of the joints, but he still rejected the prosthetic, still hated the glint of metal whenever he raised his arm). Tired of remembering how the villagers he’d seen dead had talked about their children. Tired of waking up in a cold sweat and reaching for the gun that was no longer under his pillow.

His mind was full of ghosts and his knuckles full of scrapes from when he’d hit the wall one to many times in frustration. Sometimes the alarm rang and he opened his eyes, but all he saw was darkness and he was afraid to get up. He wanted to stay home in his bed until the rest of him withered away and they found a prosthetic to replace him entirely, a prosthetic as efficient as the metal arm that weighed down his left side.

On those days he remembered Gabe’s encouraging smile, his belief in his competence. Or how Jacques and Morita had welcomed him home with a shot of bourbon and a slap on his back. He thought of Dum Dum, and his thinly veiled reassurances that took form in teasing jibes, and he thought of Monty and those kind eyes, and usually, he found the will to get up and out of his bed.

But still, Bucky thought as he washed up quickly and left his dishes and cutlery on the drying rack; the military was in his bones, as deeply ingrained in his personality as the snark and wit that Dum Dum liked to poke fun at. It was in his pressed and folded clothes, in the way he religiously made his bed each morning, in the scars that spread like spider webs from the joint in his shoulder.

He just hoped that it wouldn’t always be.

 

~0~

 

“How’s he doing?” Dum Dum glanced up from where he was washing up to the figure leaning against the doorway to his kitchen. He threw the man a mock salute, drying his hands on a dish towel and shrugging.

“He’s doing well, all things considered. Relax, Gabe; getting him to fill in that position at your school was a great idea. It’ll do him good to be out and about, interacting an’ giving the old muscles a workout.”

Gabe shrugged, walking over to snag a piece of toast from the pile Dum Dum had prepared. “Yeah, I hope so. I’m gonna be late if I hang around anymore, though. See ya, Dum Dum.”

“Just ‘cause I’m lettin’ you stay ‘til you get yourself an apartment, don’t mean you can steal my food, Gabe!” Dum Dum called after him, the man’s reply muffled by the piece of toast between his lips before he heard the front door slam shut. He shook his head as he tossed the towel in his hands over the back of one of the chairs in the dining room, breathing a soft sigh as he headed upstairs.

With how much he worried about these dumb fucks, Dum Dum was surprised that he hadn’t magically metamorphosed into the ultimate father figure.

 

~0~

 

“Steve, man, hurry up, Peggy’ll have our heads.” Sam called through the open door to the boy’s apartment, smirking to himself as he heard a crash, a muttered curse and then an insistent yell that he was coming.

When Steve _did_ turn the corner and pull his front door shut behind him, Sam laughed. “What the Hell were you doing in there, Steve? I heard crashes and questionable language.” He quipped, helpfully taking the boy’s backpack from him as he shoved his key in the lock.

 “I forgot to put my easels away last night.” The blond responded, grimacing and shooting Sam a grateful look as he took his backpack from his hands. “Makes getting my things together ten times harder. Both of them collapsed; luckily the canvases weren’t still on them.” He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair in an attempt to instil some order to the unruly locks.

“I see you didn’t have time to dry your hair properly; your hair’s doing that thing again.” Sam chuckled, the pair of them falling into step as they headed down the stairs of the apartment building. Steve sighed, huffing a breath that made the hair flopping in front of his eyes shift before settling back in place.

“I’ll deal with it tonight; for now, I’ll deal with my hair falling in my lashes.” He muttered in resignation, unable to help but smile as Sam laughed once more.

“Alright, drama queen, come on- Peggy’s waiting on the ground floor.”

“Yeah, yeah, coming- oh, Christ, I forgot my inhaler again-“

“Got you covered- you gave me and Peggy your spares, remember?”

“Oh- right, yeah. Let’s go, then. Hey- isn’t that new teacher supposed to be joining today?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, the one filling in for Mr Boyce. Apparently he’s a war vet.”

Steve grimaced. “Wonder how a war vet’s going to like teaching a kid who can’t even do one pull up.” He sighed. Sam laughed, clapping his back fondly.

“It’ll be fine- and even if it isn’t, you can wow him with those baby blues.”

_"Sam!"_

“Sorry, sorry! Just had to. Come on, Peggy looks livid.”

Steve smiled a little as he followed after Sam, throwing Peggy a little wave when they caught up to her and laughing as she quirked a brow, through him a scathing comment about being on time and then turned on her heel to start walking towards school.

Yeah- today would be a good day. He could feel it in his bones.


	2. Could Loki Odinson Please Vacate the Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a (not so) unfortunate incident concerning a swimming pool and Steve is a little shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably make this clear from the get go, but I'm probably not going to be updating to any set schedule. School's getting pretty demanding right now, so I write when I can, but no promises as to weekly updates or anything.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, thanks to thewinterpunk (aka my platonic spouse) and thanks for the feedback on the prologue! 
> 
> Without further ado, onto the chapter!

Steve prided himself on his patience.

When he was still living in the rundown orphanage down on Atlantic Avenue and he awoke to giggling children straddling his torso and poking his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him, he'd open his eyes and smile blearily before playfully shoving them off. When he painted, each brushstroke was careful, precise and purposeful without fail, no matter how long it took- he was patient, until his ass started tingling numbly in protest to him sitting on a hard wooden stool for hours on end.

He was _not_ , however, patient when it came to situations like this.

"Hey, Odinson- why don't you go pick on someone your own size?" Steve shot over his shoulder, hearing Sam's groan carry from the changing rooms as he lingered in the doorway. One foot kept the door open as he glared down the younger of the Odinsons. He thought he perhaps heard Sam insisting that they couldn't be late on their first lesson with the new teacher, and 'weren't you already worried he wouldn't like you? Havin' a punch before class ain't gonna help your case, bud, come on'.

It was, the blond thought absently, a shame that Loki rolled his eyes and shoved the freshman he'd been harassing down the corridor rather than just let him be on his way, because now there was no chance of him listening to Sam. Even if he did feel a little guilty for making the guy bail him out every time his stubbornness flared in his gut and annoyance edged his nerves (there was something else, too, something deeper, something vulnerable that struggled free from his heart to spread icily through his chest before Steve was shoving it back behind the locked doors from which it had emerged).

"Someone my own size; well." Loki huffed a laugh, the sound laced with something gleeful as it reached Steve's ears. "You wouldn't happen to know where I might find someone, would you?" He asked, a glint in his eyes when he met Steve's own steely gaze. "Because all I can see for the life of me is _you_ , Rogers. And as admirable as your heroism is, I'm afraid that you're hardly a worthy opponent if size is the deciding factor."

Steve rolled his eyes, waving a hand in dismissal and turning to walk into the changing rooms (he could _hear_ Sam's sigh of relief). "Yeah, well, if we're talking about size, at least I don't compensate for mine in my personality."

The blond paused in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips as a stunned silence hung in the air between them, before moving to join Sam in changing for gym class.

What? He wasn't above dick jokes.

 

~0~

 

"You need to bulk out, man. You're sure that's the smallest they had in stock?"

Steve breathed a sigh, tugging at the front of the loose gym shirt that hung from narrow shoulders. "Yeah, 'fraid so. Guess I should've bought a new kit earlier, but you know how it is. Rent was due; by the time I got 'round to buying a uniform they only had ones starting from medium." He explained mournfully. There was, of course, the option available to him of his old gym uniform, but seeing as he and Sam had accidently stained that with every colour in Steve's paint collection the last time he'd come over, that option had rather been demoted to ‘for use in worst case scenarios only’.

Sam shrugged, clapping Steve's shoulder gently and grinning. "Just make sure those shorts don't fall down." He quipped, earning a laugh from the blonde’s lips as he quirked a brow.

"Sir, yes, Sir." He chuckled, following Sam into the gym and looking around.

"Looks like the new teacher's not around yet." Sam commented, glancing over when Steve nodded. "Coulson's probably giving him a tour, or something." He surmised, recalling that the last time they'd had an addition to the staff, the Principal- a one Phil Coulson- had left the tour of the school until their first day. He was a busy man, and a fair teacher- no doubt he was so preoccupied with other school matters that the tours were the last things on his mind. Steve hummed, nodding towards the door that led out to the pool. "Wanna go sit outside?" He suggested.

It was a bright day, the Sun seeping out from behind light cloud cover to warm the pavement beneath them, but Steve should really have known better than to assume that everything would go to plan.

Things rarely did, when Loki had a score to settle.

Apparently he'd hit a raw nerve with the dick joke. Huh, who knew.

"If it isn't the hero of the hour. Planning on skipping gym, Rogers?"

Steve breathed a sigh, leaning back on his hands and shooting Sam a reassuring glance when he saw the man tense out of the corner of his eye. "Clearly not, Loki, because I'm wearing my gym uniform." He replied simply, pointedly ignoring him when he hummed.

"Shame. You wouldn't be missed- you hardly contribute excessively to the lesson's proceedings. If anything, you hinder the progress of the class as a whole."

"Why don't you move along, Odinson. I ain't got much patience today, and it'd be a shame if your first impression on our teacher's somewhat skewed by a bloody nose."

Steve had a bad effect on his friends, it seemed. He distinctly recalled a time when Sam would have ignored Loki for as long as he could before turning on him, but since befriending him his patience when dealing with people like the Odinson had dwindled to the point of him quipping something in response before the situation had escalated at all. Steve was rather proud, actually. The only reason that Peggy's practicality when dealing with such situations (she was equally as competent- if not more-so- but she tended to put more thought into planning before throwing herself in at the deep end; Steve wasn't sure he even knew the definition of a plan) hadn't been affected by his demeanour was because- well. In all honesty, both he and Sam were just as frightened of the woman as they were loving of her. And they were slightly in awed. Hugely awed. Peggy Carter was, in essence, a remarkable individual who would likely have put an end to the proceedings _before_ Loki's elder brother showed up at the scene.

Loki was halfway through a scathing comeback when a mass of muscle barrelled into his side and sent him hurtling into the pool.

Steve flinched away from the water that splashed over the side of the pool, scrambling to his feet and trying, for a few moments, to hold back the grin threatening to pull at his lips at the sight of Thor standing triumphantly at the pool's edge, hands on his hips as he waited for his brother to emerge.

And then Loki broke the surface, spluttering and looking utterly _scandalised_ , and he was a goner.

Through the sound of his laughter and Sam's mingling in his ears as the pair hung onto each other in their throes of mirth, Steve thought he heard a whistle blow, but brushed the thought off in favour of watching Loki as he clambered, stroppy and soaking, out of the pool and turned on his brother.

" _Thor_! What are you _doing_ , you moronic lout?!"

"You hound Steven, brother mine- I see now that merely expressing my disapproval of your insistent harassment of others is a fruitless activity, thus I have resorted to inflicting physical retribution when I come across you heckling another!"

"You- you-"

"What are you boys doing out here?"

 

~0~

 

It was, Bucky decided, a nice school.

The staff were all immensely friendly, the Principal included, and the only mention of his arm had been by a Physics teacher who apparently had a passion for inventing in his free time and had been fascinated by how exactly his prosthetic had worked. Mr Stark, he believed he was called. Bucky wasn't sure if he quite liked him yet. He seemed to touch people a little too much.

In any case, the school itself was relatively small. The campus only extended a little around the main building, to provide for the gym's outdoor facilities and to make some space for outdoor lunch tables, as well as some grassy patches and a courtyard for student's to use as they pleased. Judging by the football goals set up on either end of it, Bucky supposed that football was a popular choice. From what he'd heard from the other teachers and from what he'd seen for himself, the students, too, were well-behaved. Or as well-behaved as kids of this age could be. As always, there were a few troublemakers- the names Loki Odinson and Howard Stark Jr (accompanied with a frown from Tony and a comment that the boy was his nephew) came up- but all in all, Bucky reckoned that the kids at this school got into less trouble than he had done at their age.

That was, of course, until he turned up at his first lesson (Junior year, class 3A) to find half of the kids sitting on the benches and chatting amongst themselves and half crowding around the door that led out towards the pool, laughs and snickers running through the gathering.

"Alright, everyone, on the benches."

Bucky placed his prosthetic hand on his hip when all eyes swivelled to him, quirking a brow and letting a cocky grin pull at his lips. It came easily, despite Dum Dum's assumption that he was depressed (he wasn't, he just... found the PTSD hard to deal with, some days. PTSD and Depression could be mutually exclusive, after all).

"Come on, guys, I know I'm pretty, but quit starin'. Go on, on the benches, let me deal with the idiots outside." A laugh ran through the class like a ripple, and Bucky was vaguely surprised when the kids complied. Huh. Maybe he actually had a knack for teaching, after all.

"Rogers is so fucked, man."

"Twink fuckin' deserves it, going up against Loki."

"I dunno, I think it's pretty cool that he's not afraid of him. 'Sides, seeing Loki fume after Rogers outwits him is fuckin' hilarious."

"True, true. Thor's a legend, though, knocking him into the pool."

"Fuck yeah, just wish I'd gotten a picture."

Bucky felt his brow climb ever closer to his hairline as he picked up on snippets of conversation as the group dispersed. 'Knocking him into the pool'...?

Oh.

Oh, God, come _on_.

Sure enough, when Bucky walked out onto the poolside, two kids were stood cracking up to one side- a scrawny little blond kid and a taller, dark-haired one- as a self-righteous looking, rather well-built (was this kid 16? Really?) long-haired blond boy beamed. And, yep, there was a black-haired kid soaked to the skin and dripping water onto the ground beneath them as he yelled.

He should have known that his first day wouldn't be normal.

"What are you boys doing out here?"

It was slightly amusing, the way the laughing kids froze up and slowly, almost simultaneously, turned to look at him, glanced back at the huffing boy whose hair was plastered to his forehead with chlorinated water, and then back at him. It looked like the smaller of the two was about to offer up some form of explanation, but the long-haired blond beat him to it.

"I apologise for the disruption of your lesson, Sir, however my brother was harassing my dear friends and I felt it my duty to put a stop to it." He explained sagely, motioning at the now seething boy at his side. "My brother, Loki Odinson. My name is Thor, and these are my friends Samuel Wilson and Steven Rogers." He motioned at each of them respectively, before turning his smile on Bucky, who was honest to God a little stunned by this boy's Shakespearean manner of speaking and the novelty of this scene (no, no, you're the teacher, you can't laugh, dammit-)

Bucky cleared his throat, raising a brow at the group. Loki, he'd heard about, but the other names hadn't come up, so he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. At least for now. The scrawny blond kid offering him a somewhat sheepish smile and then an explanation of his own helped their case considerably.

"Ah- it's Steve, and this is Sam. Sorry- we didn't mean to make a fuss." He apologised, brushing his shorts off as if he'd only just realised that he'd been sitting on the floor until quite recently. "Thor's just a real good guy. Goes over the top, but he's great." A pause, a glance in Loki's direction, and then a shrug. "Loki, not so much."

"Oh, shut _up_ , you quim." The boy muttered in response, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a weary sigh before he looked at Bucky, something challenging in his eyes.

"I assume that I shall be allowed some time to change my uniform, _Sir_?"

Clearly, this boy had no idea that he'd been in the army, or he was more stupid than his language suggested.

Bucky quirked a brow, shrugging a shoulder. "I don't know- not with that attitude. Maybe I'll just get you to strip down, do it in your underwear." The boy paled, his blasé mask briefly cracking before he slipped it back on again. Bucky did not, however, miss the snort of laughter that the skinny kid- Steve, he amended- stifled. He stared Loki down for a few minutes, before graciously stepping aside. "You've five minutes to dry off and change." He instructed him, watching the boy scowl before stalking off.

Sam huffed a laugh once Loki was out of hearing range, ruffling Steve's hair fondly. "You're a little shit, Stevie." The boy froze, realising that Bucky was still very much present and pulling a face. "Ah. Sorry, Coach, I'll reign in the language." He apologised, blinking in surprise when Bucky snorted and waved the matter off.

"It's fine. Be a bit hypocritical of me to ask you to stop swearing when I cuss like a sailor. Just don't be runnin' 'round calling everyone bitches and I can handle a little swearing." Bucky felt the grin pull at his lips once more when Steve laughed, a full-throated laugh sounding from Thor's lips, as well, as the boy moved to walk back into the gym hall dutifully. "I have taken a rather fast liking to you, Coach." The blond commented, Bucky smiling at the comment.

"Please- it's Bucky. Or Coach Barnes, if that makes you more comfortable."

Thor threw him a mock salute before heading back inside, automatically taking a seat beside Fandral and the rest of his friends as Sam and Steve, too, made to go back inside.

"Hey, you two, gimme a sec, would ya?" Bucky called, motioning them over to regard them quizzically. "About what your buddy said- Thor, I think- was Loki really harassing you? You want me to put a word in?" He offered, a little taken aback when the smaller of the two, the one that he'd assumed would be timid and shy and reserved, raised an incredulous brow and laughed.

"Thanks, Coach, but I can handle a few Shakespearean insults just fine." He quipped, his friend laughing as he clapped his back.

"Steve's a regular troublemaker. Stubborn as Hell, even if he's abysmal when it comes to fighting." He chuckled, Sam flashing him a grin as Steve rolled his eyes.

"Aw, shucks, Sam, y’really shouldn't have. Gee, I think I'm blushing, how sweet of you." He drawled, throwing Bucky a smile as he turned on his heel to head over to the rest of his classmates. "Nice to meet you, Coach!"

Sam smiled after him, shaking his head fondly as he followed closely behind him. Bucky allowed himself a laugh as he watched the pair playfully push and shove at each other before eventually collapsing on the floor beside the benches with wide grins on their faces.

He could see himself taking a liking to this Steve Rogers real quick.

But for now, it was time to see exactly how well these schoolboys fared when he put ‘em on the ropes. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter was a little uneventful, but it was going to get really long if I didn't stop it where I did :P
> 
> Comments and kudos are always great as a little pick me up when I'm not sure about this fic, so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! 
> 
> My tumblr is spockolatechipcookie if u guys wanna come say hi c: See you next time!


	3. Bruises are my Second Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve hurts himself in his confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS  
> I'M BACK  
> I'M ALIVE  
> I'm so sorry that this is so late- Christ, it's been like 3 weeks since my last update. School's been real hectic and a lot of personal shit got in the way of writing BUT. I'M BACK. WITH A 2K CHAPTER IN AN ATTEMPT TO APOLOGISE.  
> As always, thanks to my bae thewinterpunk who is currently writing the best mobster au in existence.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feedback is always appreciated!

"Come on, Steve, one of these days I'm gonna see you sprawled under this tree and have a heart attack."

Steve groaned his complaint when he heard Sam speak up, cracking his eyes open to frown up at the man. "Why is it that you can do ten laps of this pitch easy, but the moment I try to do more than two my body gives up on me?" Not that laying here was a chore. It was nice, the fleeting brush of the grass against his cheeks, the odd prick of a blade the freshly trimmed lawn poking into his back, the breeze running his fingers through his hair- and, of course, the shadow that was cast over him by Sam, who was now cocking an eyebrow.

"Your mind over body battle will triumph someday, but for now, you gotta stop playing dead."

One day, Steve thought as he let his head fall back onto the sun-warmed grass with a moan of complaint, he'd conquer this, his one most fiendish enemy.

It might have come as a surprise to some that his 'most fiendish enemy' was not a term referring to Loki or his other plethora of bullies and general harriers. Nor, in fact, was it a reference to his ever harder to manage rent payments and other financial issues.

No, Steve's true enemy had always been laps. And ropes. Anything that might fit into the same sentence as 'In gym class today, we're going to be...'.

Aside from groaning and dying, because he felt those were both things that occurred in gym class exclusively to him.

"Rogers! Come on, up and at 'em! What's wrong with him, Wilson? Is he sick?"

Steve tipped his head back, craning his neck to peer up at the figure that had joined Sam in leaning over him. The blond scrunched his nose as his eyes swept past toned calves and thighs barely concealed by shorts that would surely have been in violation of the dress code if they were on a student, past calloused hands resting on defined hips and the stray strands of hair that fell free from the man's short pony-tail to meet emerald eyes.

It was with a pause that Steve realised that his internal monologue sounded like something out of a teen romance novel.

He blamed it on the perception that came with being an artist.

"-anaemic, is all."

"Oh, I see. You good, Steve?"

Ah, right, yes, time to stop his tweeny internal monologue because someone was talking to him. How did conversation work again? Right, he had to use his words.

"Yeah- yeah, I'm good. Sorry."

Steve sighed as he sat up, pulling a face as Sam ruffled his hair and swatting at the boy's hand. "Lay off of it, Sam-"

"You've got grass in your hair, you moron-"

"I can get it out myself- Sam- Sam stop-"

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and letting Sam do as he pleased, acutely aware of the fact that Bucky was smirking at the pair of them.

"Alright, alright, break it up boys- up and at 'em. I want three more laps outta you, Rogers, at /least/."

Steve's groan mingled with Sam's laughter at the request, the blond getting to his feet and breathing a sigh. "Right, yeah, you got it. Three laps. If I die, I'm gonna haunt you for life, Coach."

"I'm afraid. Truly, I'm quaking in my trainers."

"You should be, you'll have the death of a poor, asthmatic teenager on your mind."

"Stop milking it and get on the track, Rogers!"

Bucky laughed as he walked back towards the start of the track, unaware of the blond watching his retreating figure. Steve worried at his lower lip briefly as he brushed down his gym uniform, watching stray blades of grass flutter towards the ground. That smirk was sticking in his mind more than usual- maybe-?

"Hey, Steve, anybody home?"

The blond blinked, glancing up at Sam as the boy cocked a brow and knocked gently at his temple. A smile pulled at his lips as he chuckled and ducked out from under his questing hands, making his way back down onto the running track.

"I'm here, you ass. Come on, I'm gonna see if I can keep pace with you for more than half a lap. Don't go easy on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Yeah- clearly, he was just over-thinking things, Steve decided as he and Sam fell into step (he elected to ignore the fact that Sam had set a slower pace than he usually did). Coach Barnes was just- encouraging, was all. Yeah. Everything was fine.

Steve picked up the pace, despite knowing in the back of his mind that he could never keep it up for long. He smiled as he glanced over his shoulder, shooting Sam a grin. "Come on, Wilson, that all you got?"

Sam returned the grin with equal vigour, a breathless laugh punching out of his lungs as he raised his eyebrow. "Oh, so that's how it is?"

"Oh, that's how it is." Steve laughed as he turned his gaze front and centre once more, hearing Sam chuckle behind him and picking up on the man's quickening footfalls as he passed the starting line.

And if his eyes caught a little too long on the smile on Bucky's lips as he glanced his way, well, that was his business.

 

~0~                                

 

Everything was not fine.

Steve breathed a pained, sighed noise as he eased his gym shirt off, aching muscles twinging in protest.

"I'm going ahead, Steve; gotta see if I can catch Riley on his way to lunch and sort out the football team for the next game. Guy's gotta consult his co-Captain, right? See you in a bit- I think Peggy's gone on ahead to the library, if you wanna chase her down."

The blond in question glanced over a pale shoulder, subtly shifting so that the purpling bruise on his side was turned away from Sam as he stood in the doorway. Steve rolled his eyes, making shooing motions with his hands as he turned to slip his button up onto slender shoulders.

"Sure thing, Sam. Get a move on; we all know how much Riley likes his food. You'll never catch him if you stay there."

Sam's laugh caught in the closing door, muffled but warm nonetheless, and Steve finally allowed himself to expel a heavy breath.

No; everything was not fine.

At first, he'd thought that Coach Barnes was rather sweet. Especially in comparison to his _past_ gym teachers; he had a habit of getting on their sour side considering that he couldn't make it more than two laps without collapsing, or wriggle his way more than halfway up a rope when they were indoors. And God forbid someone broke out the obstacle course. Watching Steve on an obstacle course, his first (and rather despicable) gym teacher had commented one day in a fit of annoyance, was like watching a drunkard who was intent on face-planting the floor in as many ways as physically possible.

In comparison to that, Coach Barnes was as good as a saint. He greeted him with a clap on the back each morning and joked around with him as much as he did with the other kids, and he always had a smile ready to shoot his way.

And, if Steve was honest, that was the problem.

The _smiling_.

Initially, he'd thought that the man was just trying to be encouraging. Indeed, every time he chanced upon Steve slumped against the ground with his reddened cheeks pressed against the cool laminate flooring beneath them, Bucky was quick to flash him a grin and offer him a hand up before ushering him back into the thick of things. Every time Steve glanced over at him and happened to catch his eyes, a smile curved at the man's lips, and every time he groaned dramatically when he failed, yet again, to compete with Sam, a light-hearted laugh drifted over from Bucky's direction.

(He'd learned to groan and dramatize the whole thing early on; because really, playing along was so much easier than letting on as to how inadequate the whole experience made him feel, how that inadequacy fed the smouldering self-doubt that hid behind his defiance and stubbornness).

He wasn't sure when, exactly, he'd began wondering if encouragement was really all there was to this, but once the seed of thought was planted in his mind it had been harder and harder for Steve to ignore it. Because- well- supportive or not, surely Coach Barnes realised that he had his boundaries? That as much as he tried, he physically couldn't perform at the same level as his peers when it came to certain activities, even if he could better himself to a certain extent.

The problem was Steve wasn't quite sure that he _did_.

Sure, when Bucky happened upon him slumped against a wall to catch his breath, he'd crouch down and chat for a while, but after that- after that, it was always 'come on, Steve, up you get' or 'I want four more laps out of you, Steve' or 'go on, I want to see you get through half this obstacle course in under ten minutes, yeah?'

He never seemed truly happy with whatever progress Steve had made, even if he himself was. And once that thought had started festering at the back of his mind, the kind hearted laughs that fell from Bucky's lips gained a cold edge, the smiles on his lips seemed sharper, each passing comment had an amused air behind it.

Because how was he to know that Coach Barnes was laughing with him, rather than _at_ him?

Steve breathed a quiet sigh, examining the bruise on his side. Poking it had been a bad idea, the wince that tugged at his features revealed, although it did helpfully inform him that yes, the bruise was indeed as deep as the violent purple suggested it was, and that yes, Steve wasn't going to be able to sleep on his left side for a while.

He bruised easily. That was why he hated those godforsaken obstacle courses so much.

He'd talk this over with Peggy, Steve decided as he buttoned up his shirt and slung his backpack over his good shoulder. She was the voice of reason in tumultuous times, he'd often found. If he was really over-thinking things, she'd set him straight.

Steve was heading out to scout around for his friend when he bumped into someone else. He concealed the grimace that came with his injured side being jostled, clearing his throat and glancing up at the unknown face. When recognition flitted through the unfamiliar eyes, confusion sparked through his own, before Steve shook his head. Everyone knew him, at this school; he was the idiot kid from Junior year that was dumb enough to go up against Loki and actually try and get a punch in.

"Sorry, didn't see you there." He apologised, moving to step to one side and walk around the other, before the guy flagged him down.

"Hey, hey, sorry, one sec- are you Steve Rogers, by any chance?"

Yep; clearly, everyone knew him, even if the same wasn't applicable vice versa.

"That's me, yeah. Why?"

The man flashed him a friendly smile, holding a hand out. A handshake? Must be a Senior, Steve noted silently as he accepted the notion.

"Gabriel Jones, Senior year. Call me Gabe; I'm a friend of Bucky- sorry, Coach Barnes’. He's mentioned you. Says he likes your spunk. It's great to finally meet you- sorry, I'd hang around and chat, but the guy'll have my head if I'm late for training. See you round, though, yeah?"

The man- Gabe, Steve corrected- was rushing off in the other direction before he had the chance to get a word in edgewise, leaving the slightly confused blond standing in the middle of the corridor.

Coach Barnes talked about him? And what about that comment; he 'liked his spunk'?

One thing was certain; even if Bucky's opinion of him was in debate, Steve was certainly conflicted.

And that warmth in his chest was just because it was hot in this corridor.

Yeah; now, where was Peggy when he needed her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback would make me the most grateful person in the world.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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